


You Broke Me First

by Webtrinsic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Hera Syndulla, Blind Kanan Jarrus, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hera Syndulla Needs A Hug, Hurt Hera Syndulla, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kanan Jarrus & Hera Syndulla as Space Parents, Kanan Jarrus Has PTSD, Major Character Injury, Parental Hera Syndulla, Parental Kanan Jarrus, Protective Ezra Bridger, Protective Hera Syndulla, Protective Kanan Jarrus, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, The Force, War, Worried Ezra Bridger, Worried Kanan Jarrus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29143707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: She's pinned by the crumbling building's supports, her family potentially in the same predicament as her, maybe even worse, and the thought of it is driving her mad.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus & Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios & Hera Syndulla & Sabine Wren, Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus & Hera Syndulla, Hera Syndulla & Sabine Wren, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	You Broke Me First

**Author's Note:**

> i imagine the crew is always very worried when hera gets hurt since she's normally so strong and she's their leader, but i also like making her vulnerable, and i also like having her be a total mom and be strong af and this is what this leans towards. also kanera is the best couple in all of star wars, undebatable 
> 
> also i started school and get a bit a hw so sorry for lack of fics, i have like five other fics in my writing folder (all is star wars except one legend of zelda one lol) I'm working on so just know more content is coming

The warehouse begins to topple, the building and those connecting either up in flames or already falling apart due to the aged rust eating away at the material. Her specters were scattered about, and she’s alone as the commotion brings down a beam that takes her body hostage with its weight.

She’s gotten far enough away that the fire hasn’t reached her location, but if the destruction continued it could. But for now, as her comm crackled with interference, she was alone, stuck, and twitching with barely reserved agony.

Her predicament is loud, it demands her attention, and it nearly catches it fully if not for the fleeting thought that her family, who would surely come and save her, could potentially be in their own traps. Maybe even dead.

It’s an unpleasant thought, but she is a captain, and she must entertain it when it is more than likely. None of them had known or could have known the bastards would blow up their own base to keep their secrets safe.

The dedication is nerve-wracking, but Hera understands it. Shares it. It is a necessity in this business, and although strong convictions win hearts, it’s uncertain it will win the war, or even what’s left of ones being.

It’s a thought for later as her brain pushes her to focus on the damage. She resents the small implications she cannot care for herself from time to time, but she wonders idly if there is some truth to it as she struggles to snap to attention and assess her situation.

It’s easy, enjoyable even, fulfilling to help others. It is a chore to look at herself and address what’s broken, both metaphorically and not. Her arms are free but any sudden movements sent twinges down her sides, there are loose pieces within poking at skin, and if she dares to shift she knows those splintered ribs could very well be slashing her organs if they weren’t already.

There isn’t a loss in feeling, her spine miraculously uninjured, but her left hip is on fire and the bone there is only still by the weight pressing onto it. The same weight that had broken it in the first place.

The fallen debris clouds her senses, and for a moment she almost passes off the metallic tang in her mouth as rust that had simply flown in. But as liquid dribbles down the corner of her lips, she knows it’s blood. She’d never drool.

Her eyes pulled down, bouncing, locking onto the floor where the blood now sat, inspecting the color, knowing it’s deeper brown didn’t bode well. Something inside had been cut, and the twi’lek hoped it was something that could wait. That wouldn’t kill her in a matter or minutes...unless. Unless her family was already dead and not currently trying to retrieve her, she didn’t want to sit here for hours on end, slowly bleeding to death or encased in encroaching flames.

Hera didn’t think about her death often, not even the future itself, her life was in the moment, and when the future came into question, it was never her own. Battle strategies, supply runs, anything and everything to do with what would further the cause, that would save lives that she hoped lived far beyond her own.

Very rarely did she think of what the galaxy, the force, had in store for her. Kanan brought it up enough to pull her leg, indulge, even if unwillingly, that she may have a future apart from this war.

A pleasant one, with her Jedi, maybe even an added specter since there would be no telling if her current children had quite left the nest or not. 

“Hera!” a familiar voice calls, and there’s a clatter of footsteps that makes the woman calm. Pulling herself together, because although she’d expected her Jedi, wanted him, she’d gotten the boy who technically was also her Jedi, just in a different way.

She is bravest in the faces of her kids, and as Ezra scrambles close, seconds away from using the force to free her, she raises a hand that stops him. Knowing the action would only cause more harm than good.

“Oh my god Hera,” He’s getting so tall, soon he’ll outgrow her. The teen clatters to his knees, hands waving as he struggles to figure out what to do with them, and Hera helps by gently pulling him close and blessing him with the hug it would seem he so desperately needed, or maybe she needed.

It’s a relief to see him okay, but there is still fear nagging at her. She has another child out there, although clad in armor, armor that could still be festered in flames or flattened by debris. She still has a lasat that seems like a brother or simply a very close family friend that could be in the same situation. Lastly there is the love of her life, who has the power to hold back flames and bend gravity at will, he could still be lost.

Her fingers carefully brush out the knots that have formed in the boy’s hair due to the heat, it radiates off him, but as her hand brushes over his back and arms, there is no wince or cry of pain. He does not smell of burnt flesh even when she does smell the speckles of ash on his skin.

There’s a sniffle pressed against the side of her throat, and although her own tears are threatening to spill, her child is crying and she will not give him another reason to. 

“I’m going to be alright,” she assures, swallowing through each word so no more blood can slip through the cracks of her teeth, “It’s going to be okay darling,” she feels like she’s lying in fact she’s not entirely sure, but she can’t bring herself to be blunt and maybe that is an even bigger sign that she is not okay.

“You’re going to be okay,” he repeats, assuring himself because again he is a child who at the moment is very scared, terrified he is losing another parent, and Hera adds some pressure to her fingertips as she runs them over his spine, feeling him wilt against the parts of her that are not covered.

Shock takes the pain she expects from the action, or maybe he really is just that light, maybe it’s just she is a mother looking after her child and not even injury or death could stop that.

His hair is different from Kanan’s, humans are so peculiar. Her family is so peculiar, but it is hers and she wouldn’t be herself without them. The force, or just the boy’s need to speak, gets him talking, and it’s a relief because her lungs pass over a bubble for a moment that steals her voice before she can physically ask about the others.

“I feel Kanan, he seems worried. Not devastated or anything,” and that’s a good sign, it means as far as he knows, no one is dead. Unless they are and he just hasn’t figured it out yet.

One night while tousled in blankets, after his injury, he’d explained how much he held to their force signatures since he could no longer see them. The captain wonders if his worry is blotting them out now, or it’s just too big of a task to feel for them in this decimated expanse of space. 

Maybe Ezra would have better luck, but she doesn’t ask, not wanting to admit there is an animal in her gut pacing with the need to know if their family is missing any members. That and if he can’t pick them up, the both of them may take it as the worst, and the ounce of self-preservation that was seemingly lost on her began to insist if the news is bad, it might be what kills her. 

Except, even then, she’d hold on, for Ezra who is here, who she needs to protect even though if danger were to arrive it would be him to raise his saber and ward the monsters away.

It’s possible she’s not thinking straight, it’s also plausible she isn’t sure what she’s even feeling. She’s caught in a whirlwind of concocting sensations and emotions and her resolve is slowly draining.

More blood crawls up her throat, and she doesn’t want to spit up on her son. Doesn’t want to traumatize him any further, but if her family is out there in this rubble, if there’s a chance medical could come, or even if there’s a chance for her to say goodbye to Kanan as well, she has to ask.

The beam was doing most of the work anyway, “I need you to help stop the bleeding until Kanan finds us,” it’s the firmest and strongest her voice has been, it’s enough to spur the boy into action. 

Shifting away, the teen sits cross legged in front of her, quickly wiping his watering eyes with his sleeve as she sends him a soft encouraging smile. A shaky nod bobs his head, and for encouragement she wraps one of his hands in her own.

Ezra’s free hand hesitantly sits on her side, and as his eyes shut she can already feel the blood trying to rise up her throat stall. Stopping completely. Placing her other hand over his, the tenseness in the boy’s shoulders jump momentarily before going slack. 

Fully immersed in his task, pride pushes at him through Hera, and it keeps the padawan confident in his task. Hera knows mentally she’s asked a lot of him with this, and if she survives she’ll do what she can to remedy it. 

It could be minutes, or potentially an hour before a clatter of footsteps makes way. The rooms hotter than it’d been before. The flames coming closer but still not overtaking their sanctuary, Ezra’s eyes snap open while simultaneously letting go of Hera’s hand, evidently forcing her to open her eyes as well, unsure of when they closed, and ignite his saber.

He’s still holding her, the hand on her side seemingly grounding her, and there’s a pang that she won’t be able to help if it’s a threat. Thankfully that isn’t the case. Her vision is a little flurried, but she recognizes the purple fur, blinding effervescent orange, and she would never not know Kanan-his green sweater helps.

The image although not perfect brings upon her the greatest sense of relief possible, so much so she has the thought of standing to hug them. Support beam be damned. 

“Hera!” Sabine cries out, and she can hear Zeb’s scattered curse at the sight of her. Kanan is silent, approaching with care, but the vein bulging from his forehead tells her enough as he pulls himself together.

Ezra feels the thank you, the praise Kanan extends for watching over her, before Kanan’s hand replaces Ezra’s and he takes over.

“Zeb, get medical, let them know we need an evac. Sabine, Ezra, make sure the flames don’t get any closer or any higher,” they give a nod of agreement although it’s hesitant, but that’s not what Kanan’s focused on.

He wishes he could see her, in his own way he can, and he doesn’t like it.

“There’s my Jedi,” she croons, her free hand coming up to cup his face and his hand covers the appendage immediately, reverently. A tremor runs down his spine at the declaration, it is a blessing to be hers, and it is the most gruelling torture he’d ever endured to sit by her side while she suffers.

“Not that I don’t love your voice-”

“I know you do,” she cuts off amused, blood dribbling from the corner of her pinched lips; stemming from the second it took the two men to trade off in stemming the flow.

A pained huff of a laugh escapes him at that, of course she knew he loved her voice and everything with it. 

The sound startles her, it gives her the wrong impression, her weary unfocused eyes determinedly coming together in search of a potential wound or wounds. But there is no blood or bruises on his person to settle on that would indicate injury.

There is nothing physical about the pain he is in as he cups her cheek, feeling the force around her sizzle in agony.

Hera feels a little more lively with him here, she always does, and that fact may go to his head later, but she can’t bring herself to care. She loves the way his face lights up when he teases her, and although his eyes don’t sparkle with mirth any longer, the lifting of his brows is enough to make her smile.

Her heart shaped face presses eagerly against his heated palm, she can feel every crack and callus that the years have left him. And it’s the pain and delusion that makes her want to ask him to never let go. Or is it?

She knows why he wants her to stay quiet, save her strength, but that doesn’t mean he can’t. And his silence is grating on her nerves, he loves her voice, but what he didn’t know is she loved his just as much.

“Talk to me my love,” she uses  _ my _ again, and it takes all his willpower not to falter at his task,  _ not just love, her love _ . 

“Shh,” he admonishes lightly, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, feeling it curve under his finger in a smile. The blood, drying and otherwise smearing across his skin kills the moment, nearly making him pull away, but she only leans against his hand harder.

“Please,” she asks, and he is helpless not to give in, unable to deny her ever. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he doesn’t and his tongue feels particularly dry with her so broken. Her eyebrow quirks and the hand she has resting against his cheek brushes over his scar.

Normally he’s squeamish, hesitant to let her touch the spot, but now he gives, letting her nimble delicate fingers run over the marred skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes at first, feeling it is the easiest thing to get out, he feels the way she sighs and how the pained force around her begrudged the two words immediately.

“You can’t look at my pretty face without this mark anymore,” it's a self-deprecating save, and Hera hates it as much as the apology.

“You’re still nothing but handsome to me,” she murmurs and there's the slightest bit of pressure his thumb causes against her lips, and the air comes out thicker between them.

“Handsome really? Is someone in a mood? You don’t normally compliment me like this.” Hera inhales in a laugh, a whimper clipping her teeth at the pain it caused, her chest spasming and the hard set of Kanan’s jaw returns right under her fingertips as he doubles his efforts in the force. 

“Easy,” he warns, voice wavering as he tries to keep the mood light, “I knew I could excite you-”

“Kanan,” she cautions, as if he’d said something blasphemous, and he can already feel her scanning the room as if the kids were to walk back in at any moment, and considering the lack of heat, it was likely they would be soon. He just hoped Zeb and the medics would be as well.

A crackling noise approaches and it is the very medics they’d been waiting on, their arrival makes the air less heavy, and Kanan prepares to hold her still and remove the beam, Ezra’s sudden appearance makes the task much less daunting.

“You got this boys,” Hera assures, sending a fleeting smile at Sabine who stands over the boy’s shoulders, having realized she hadn’t gotten to speak with her daughter or offer any assurances in the way she did with Ezra.

“Ready?” Kanan asks Hera and Ezra both, and the second the two give the affirmation, they get to work.

* * *

With her ribs the way they are she has to sleep sitting up, it’s unpleasant but it allows the kids to bundle on the bed, Ezra’s sleepily latched onto her leg, his head heavy on her thigh while Sabine refuses to sleep, sitting with her legs crossed next to her wounded hip. Watching intently, and holding her hand tight.

Kanan watches in from the doorway, baring his weight on it while Zeb sits on a chair in the corner, leant forward. Chopper is unusually quiet at the foot of the bed, seemingly keeping watch or guard if his weary reactions to the medics meant anything.

“Fulcrum wishes you a speedy recovery,” Zeb advises, and the tired viridescent twi’lek nods, truthfully not actually caring, the drugs saw that her mind was mush. Only pushing at the important things that were often her constant: the ghost, her Jedi, her family.

Idly her free hand ran through Ezra’s hair as the boy slept, exhausted from the day’s events. She envied how he slept so soundly, unable to find that warm darkness herself with the twinges of pain shining through the medication and the uncomfortable position she was in.

Her brain and heart panged for the man in the doorway, knowing she slept better with him touching her, but even if he did get close, sit behind her and let her lean into his built chest padded by the green wool covering him, it’d be a hassle. 

Something that would rouse Ezra, leave no room for Sabine to sit since his leg would be there, and force Kanan into the same uncomfortable position she was already in.

It was a nice thought though, her only thought, and it is enough to finally steal her from wakefulness. And the moment her chin taps her chest, her family descends into true silence as if afraid even their shallowest breaths would wake her. 

Kanan taps into the force, ensuring she rests easy, still pondering ever since she said it, what she meant when she’d told him he could always see her. And considering she never truly left his mind, that just might be it.

**Author's Note:**

> Snap: allisonw1122  
> Tumblr/twitter: webtrinsic1122  
> Insta:Webtrinsic


End file.
